a spreading of wings, a bating of breath, a sense of something coming

Return to me.

Like any lover, loved one dead and gone — the air is still mourning your passing, your going and leaving us behind. The metaphors and metaphysical signs were not enough to sate the beast of a hunger, thirst, craving desperate and deep that got left in this previously hollow, hallowed out space. The thunder and sun promised that this gaping hole in our hearts would be filled again, once we came to it. But, whenever the wind blows, goddamn it — I still feel it ache.

I was in love with hope in a frozen moment of my life.
And I cried and cried the moment I knew that it was gone.
My god, how can I get up again?

Loves like beasts who beat my premature heart were nothing in comparison to this.
Dead at corners and crosses that didn’t ever exist.
A light that shone all night in alternating tones was something I walked silent through. Rainbows at our front and nothing at our backs. We were ready to be shot but the orange-liers all knew better and the lines around our wrists could be snapped and broken, after all. So we rode in one last craft, one last car to a home that was never more than a space to set our things down while we wandered around.

I was there — a brief moment in its arms again. In that grasp of the growing monster, yet again.
There are black cages without gates being raised against the things I was back then.
Is there any way you and I can back away at this rate?

There is no way to return the past to the things we become. No way to gain access to the things behind us that we want. No chance to relive all the moments we’ve already lost.

I wish for nothing but life back.
And yet, this road before me stretches only forward and on. So, there’s nothing but to take it all the way it goes, and hope and hope and hope I build into it some stairs to another road along the way.

The future’s grim, at best.
And some of us disappear before we even get there.